


If/Then/Now

by Akru899



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve Wears Glasses, bucky has short hair still and everything, bucky may or may not have a prosthetic arm, i couldn't really find a way to mention it, just imagine purely pre-war for both of them, kind of, seriously this is just pure fluff, shrinkyclinks, slight angst if you squint, we'll just say that he does
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-06-17
Packaged: 2018-11-15 03:57:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11222820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akru899/pseuds/Akru899
Summary: A storm is on the way. Bucky gets a little too drunk the night before, and Peggy convinces Steve to keep him at his place to make sure he's safe. Bucky learns to open up, and Steve learns to take risks. It turns out a storm was exactly what both of them needed.





	1. The Night Before

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!! This is my first time posting in a little while. I wrote this fairly quickly, but I felt super inspired for this one, and really the motivation was just to create pure, 100% mutual pining fluff. I hope I succeeded, and I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

“And I can’t stress this enough, folks, but stay inside and off the road tomorrow if you can, these winds are going to be _nasty._ ”

Steve squinted at the TV as he wiped his glasses, listening intently to the weatherman’s warning. He put his glasses back on -- nearly poking himself in the eye in the process -- to see the weatherman gesturing broadly over the north-eastern seaboard, the region covered by a fast approaching storm system.

Tomorrow’s forecast was rain ( _lots_ of it), and lightning, and thunder, and high winds…

“... And that’s where Steve comes in,” said Peggy, bringing Steve back down to Earth and into his friend’s living room.

“Huh?”

“We met at salsa classes? At that bar? You were too short so when they paired us, you were in the woman’s role?”

Steve remembered. By the end of the night, Steve and Peggy found themselves drunk and quietly making fun of the other patrons who were attending. This was back when Steve was in college, and had trouble making friends. Peggy had made it so easy to be sociable.

“You thought it was the funniest thing, I remember,” said Steve, trying to pick up where he left off with the rhythm of the conversation.

“And it was! You were delightful to dip.”

Natasha snorted from the corner of the room, nursing a beer in her lap. “I would pay double my _rent_ to see that.”

“Make that triple,” Sam added.

“Oh yeah?” said Peggy, holding a hand out and wiggling her fingers. “Nothing’s stopping you.”

“You know how to salsa dance, Steve?” Bucky slurred from the kitchen, sauntering into the living room with his 5th bottle of beer.

“I don’t,” said Steve, chuckling. “But Peggy does.”

Immediately the room erupted in coos and encouragements, the majority urging Steve not to be “so modest”. Steve wished it was the first time that something like this had happened. He also wished this was one of the few times they were correct in their assertion.

“No, guys, really, I- I can’t,” insisted Steve. He might have been more willing to try anyways, if he had downed just one more margarita that night.

“Don’t be such a fibber, Steve,” reprimanded Peggy, gently swatting Steve’s wrist.

“Yeah, come on, Steve, try it with me,” said Bucky, dragging out the words. “I promise I’m a good- a good partner.”

“He can say that twice,” Peggy whispered to Steve, nudging his arm playfully. Between Bucky’s offer and Peggy’s comment, Steve fought to prevent the creeping blush on his face.

Peggy was the only one in the group to know about Steve’s feelings towards Bucky. He’d tell the others, but if they teased Steve and Bucky for being close now, they’d be _relentless_ if Steve confessed how he felt to them. Peggy’s knowledge of the situation was a testament to just how close Steve felt to her.

And if Steve was being honest (and Bucky wasn’t so drunk), Bucky’s offer sounded pretty good to him. But he wasn’t about to get ahead of himself.

“Nobody’s salsa dancing with anybody,” said Steve, as sternly as he could (which was surprisingly stern). This was no great loss to Bucky, who had already gone to work on some chips and dip.

Though as midnight crept around the corner and the night died down, Peggy began gathering her things to go home.

“Come on, boys, party’s over,” said Peggy to Steve and Bucky, the latter of which having fallen asleep reclined in his chair with half of a tortilla chip sticking out his mouth.

“It’s time to get up, buddy,” said Steve, jiggling Bucky’s shoulder in an attempt to rustle him awake (or awake enough to get in the car, at least). Given that Steve couldn’t drive (never learned) and Bucky’s car was in for repairs (not that he was nearly sober enough to drive right now anyway), Peggy had given them both a ride to Natasha’s place, saint that she was.

Bucky groaned (it was more of a whine) and stretched a little, and Steve couldn’t even pretend that it wasn’t one of the cutest things he’d ever seen Bucky do. Not that he didn’t find almost everything Bucky did cute, in a way.

“But I’m still eating,” Bucky said, slurred and sleepy.

“Come on, it’s time to head home.”

“Can I bring my dip?”

“You can bring your dip,” Steve lied.

Steve grabbed Bucky’s arm and helped him hoist himself up. He turned around to see Peggy staring, purse and keys in hand, and grinning knowingly.

“What a lightweight,” said Peggy. “Even you can hold your liquor better, Steve.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Steve countered. “Bucky had beer all night.”

Peggy snorted. “Excuses. Come on you lovebirds, I’d like to be home before sunrise.”

 

* * *

 

“Be safe tomorrow you guys,” said Natasha as she saw the rest of the gang off. “That storm’s supposed to get pretty nasty.”

“Can’t make any promises,” Sam said as he entered his car.

“Always am, sweetheart,” replied Peggy, placing a quick peck on Natasha’s cheek at the door while Steve helped usher Bucky into Peggy’s backseat.

Finally all settled in Peggy’s car, Steve in the backseat with Bucky to help keep an eye on him, they set off on their way. As Steve expected, Bucky fell fast asleep.

Bucky slouched more and more still in his seat until eventually his head landed on Steve’s shoulder, snoring the slightest bit. It took everything Steve had in him not to wrap his arm around Bucky’s waist and pull him closer.

Peggy peeked at the scene in her rearview mirror and grinned. “Getting cozy back there, boys?”

“Shh! Let me enjoy this!”

“You know, I’d wager he feels the same way about you,” said Peggy, in that knowing tone of hers. “He didn’t offer to dance with you for nothing.”

“Wrong again,” corrected Steve, glancing down at Bucky, sleeping peacefully and none-the-wiser. “He’s drunk. It was the _definition_   of ‘for nothing’.”

“I’m just saying, I wouldn’t be so quick to cast doubt on it is all.”

The idea delighted Steve, and of course he’d considered it before. But he wasn’t about to let himself get too excited. Matters like this just didn’t work out for Steve Rogers.

“Anyways, I think he should stay at your place tonight,” said Peggy. “I’m not sure he should be left alone like this. He might do something stupid.”

“Like what? He couldn’t even stay awake long enough to finish a tortilla chip.”

“I don’t know! I just don’t like leaving drunk people alone. Call it a deep-seated paranoia.”

Steve could see where Peggy was coming from, a little. Drunk people _were_ more than notorious for getting hurt, in trouble, or both when left to their own devices.

“Maybe, but I don’t know how he’d feel about that when he wakes up…”

“He’d feel grateful. Grateful that someone cared enough to keep an eye on him. Honestly, Steve, this can only work in your favor.”

“I guess. But I’m not trying to do any favors for myself. He’s still my friend, and when you put it the way you did… I wouldn’t want anything happening to him and knowing I could have been there to prevent it.”

“Exactly. Why don’t you just listen to me more often?”

Steve scoffed. “‘Cause it’s gotten me in trouble more times than I care to count.”

Peggy raised an index finger in protest. “That’s unfair! I offer valuable life advice that you _know_ has helped you before.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Steve. “Just get me home, cabbie.”

 

* * *

 

“Thanks again, Peg, I’ll pay you back later.”

“No need. Jumpstarting your next romantic endeavour is all the payment I need.”

“That’s not what this is-” Steve started, then sighed. There was no point in arguing with Peggy, ever. Peggy simply smiled.

Steve opened the lefthand backseat door, mentally preparing himself for the challenge of steering a man nearly a foot taller than him into his apartment and onto his couch.

“‘Kay, Buck, we’re home,” Steve huffed, shaking Bucky gently.

“But I’m already sleeping,” Bucky mumbled.

“Well, let’s get inside and you can keep sleeping,”

“But I’m already inside.”

“Bucky.”

Steve turned to Peggy with pleading eyes. Peggy only shrugged.

“He’s your boy.”

“He’s not _my_ boy,” Steve countered. “And this was your idea!”

“Come on, keep at it. The Steve I’m friends with is no quitter.”

Huffing, Steve returned to the task at hand.

“Bucky, c’mon, it’s really late and…”

“Steve,” Bucky whined.

“What?”

“I think I’m gonna be... sick. Is that weird?”

Steve paused. “ _Weird?_  What? Wait.”

Realization dawned on Steve (having taken a bit longer than it should have) as he frantically moved to pull Bucky out of Peggy’s car and keep it (hopefully) puke-free.

“Come on come on come on,” muttered Steve quickly, straining to keep Bucky upright as he stumbled out of the car and onto the pavement. Steve quickly shut the car door behind him and started towards the entrance of the apartment building.

“If we can just make it in-”

Bucky stopped and vomited on the grass.

“...-side.” Steve sighed as Bucky groaned on the sidelines. “Much better here than in my apartment, I guess…”

“Okay, I’m done,” Bucky slurred, stumbling on the path to the front door again as if nothing happened.  Steve patted his back.

“All better, buddy?”

“Mhmm.”

 

* * *

 

Bucky dropped unceremoniously on Steve’s couch.

“Sooo comfy,” Bucky mumbled into the armrest.

“Sure is,” said Steve as he helped take Bucky’s shoes off. “I’ll be right back, I’m gonna grab a blanket and a pillow for you.”

Steve shuffled off to grab a pillow off his bed and a throw blanket from the linen closet.

“I hope you don’t mind knit blank-” began Steve before he came back to Bucky’s spot. “Oh.”

In the time that Steve was gone, Bucky had managed to shuffle off his jeans and sprawl himself haphazardly across Steve’s couch.

“Make yourself at home, I guess,” said Steve quietly as he gently laid the blanket over Bucky. As Steve moved to help prop Bucky’s head up on the pillow he brought, he felt Bucky swatting at his leg in an attempt to get a hold of him.

“You’re so nice, Steve,” Bucky murmured, already half asleep. “Always so nice…”

Steve knew it was only the drunkenness talking, but he couldn’t help but feel the familiar heat in his cheeks, the tingle down his spine that he’d grown used to feeling while around Bucky. Bucky was a dose of endorphins, straight to the veins. He smiled and patted Bucky’s shoulder.

“Anytime, pal.”

And make that the _second_ cutest thing he’d ever seen Bucky do.


	2. The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The truth was, Steve felt a lot lonelier than he liked to admit (especially to himself). It was nobody’s fault. He hadn’t been in a relationship in almost 3 years. There was only one person Steve wanted, and he was unavailable. He figured one of these days he’d have to move on from Bucky and dip his toe in the dating pool again, but…"

Bucky woke to the sound of crackling thunder.

He felt groggy, terminally dehydrated, and his head throbbed like hell. He groaned and found, to his increasing displeasure, that his breath was made to kill. And if that wasn’t enough…

… How did he end up in Steve’s apartment, on his couch? Sans _pants?_

He tore his blanket off and sat up quickly (a trademark bad idea, he realized, when the room started spinning), feeling around for his missing jeans. As soon as he found them, he jumped up from the couch (another bad idea) and quickly shuffled them back on. No sooner than he was busy zipping and buttoning his pants did Steve pad into the living room with an empty coffee mug.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

“Yeah, um…”

“I tried everything to get you up this morning,” Steve said. “I tried shaking you, calling your name, waving a mug of coffee under your nose.” Steve mimicked himself with his mug. “But you were out cold.”

“How did I end up here in the first place? And how did I miss the news about this storm?”

“It was Peggy’s idea. All due respect, Buck, but you couldn’t tell your elbow from your ass last night. Peggy wasn’t comfortable leaving you alone, so she suggested you stay with me.”

“... And my pants?”

“You took those off yourself when I left to grab you a blanket.”

“Oh.” Bucky ran his fingers through his hair. “Sorry…”

Steve snorted as he put his coffee mug in the sink. “I’ve seen you in your underwear before, Buck.”

“It’s not that, it’s… I must’ve been a big hassle last night.” Bucky couldn’t help but feel a little guilty for putting Steve in this position. Even so, Steve crossed his arms and looked Bucky straight in the eye, and Bucky braced himself.

“You’re my _best friend_ , Bucky. You’re never a hassle.”

Bucky knew he would do the same for Steve without a second thought. It didn’t make him feel any less bad for any trouble he might have caused. But, he figured, attempting to drink your feelings away will do that.

Steve turned around to grab a bottle of water out of the fridge. “And anyway… Peggy made a good point. I wouldn’t want anything bad happening to any of you guys and knowing I could have been there to prevent it.”

“Was I that shitfaced last night?”

“Yes,” Steve said, with not a moment’s hesitation. “But not reckless. You fell asleep halfway through eating some chips and dip.”

This made Bucky laugh, which made Steve laugh as well, and Bucky felt like maybe things weren’t all bad as they seemed.

“Well, you don’t happen to have a spare toothbrush I could use…?”

“Under the sink, as always. I imagine you’d really want one, after last night.”

Bucky tilted his head in thought for a moment before it dawned on him.

“Ohhh God,” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Did I throw up last night?” That would explain the breath.

“A little.”

Bucky’s next thought horrified him. “Did I throw up on any of your stuff?”

Steve laughed. “Not at all.”

“Thank _God._ I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself.”

 

* * *

 

Bucky ended up opting for a shower (he would have to borrow boxers from Steve), deciding that he couldn’t sulk around Steve’s apartment hungover and reeking of alcohol. He’d made up his mind that he was glad to have this opportunity to spend a day of just Steve and him, even if only because of a storm.

These days, spending time with Steve stirred up a bittersweet cocktail of emotions in Bucky. He wasn’t sure when it became so hard to manage - he’d always had a special interest in Steve - but it seemed like Steve was all he wanted for the past year, and the only person he could truly see himself with. He’d tried dating other people through the years, and even had genuine fun with some of them, but nobody clicked for him the way Steve did. Bucky couldn’t even see him as the one that got away, because that would imply he was ever there as a romantic prospect in the first place.

Steve must have pitied him, Bucky thought. They all must have. He was so transparent. He didn’t have to reach out to anyone for them to know when something wasn’t right. Some might have seen this as a blessing in disguise; a testament to how well their friends really knew them. Bucky just felt embarrassment for letting them see him this way, and guilt for keeping them in the dark, all at the same time.

He never felt good about it, but he couldn’t have them feeling like they had to worry about him, a grown adult who should have been able to deal with his own problems.

But the thought of Steve’s pity hurt him the most. He craved to clear the air. Back there with Steve, after he woke up, he felt so close to bursting. Steve was the one person he wanted to open up to the most about this, but Steve was the one person he couldn’t.

And then there was that dream…

Bucky had dreamt about the first time they met, the night before. But it was more about how Bucky had felt that night. And the moment when Steve drunkenly called him cute. Bucky began to wonder...

When was the last time they’d had a real, candid conversation? How long had it been since Bucky had walked away from a night with Steve feeling lighter, stronger and ready to face the day next morning? And, more importantly, when was the last time Bucky helped Steve feel that way?

When had they stopped doing that for each other?

Bucky knew these things didn’t happen on their own. Part of him was afraid Steve would slip away if he didn’t start letting him in more, and all Bucky would have to blame was himself. He wasn’t sure what he’d do with himself if they became another story of a failed companionship, gradually telling each other less and less until one day, before he knew it, they might as well have been strangers.

Maybe it was time to open the door a crack.

  

* * *

 

 Steve felt a little concerned about Bucky. He had a pretty clean record when it came to alcohol. Really, Natasha was the hard drinker. She took vodka shots as an aperitif.

But knowing Bucky, he only ever got so wasted when he was in some form of emotional turmoil. (The same could be said of Steve.) His stubborn stoicism frustrated the hell out of his friends (the same could, again, be said of Steve), and made matters like this difficult to navigate. Bucky had an apparent allergy to sympathy, and the moment he detected friendly concern, he’d hole back up in his old shell, cracked but still resilient, as good as any to deflect from perceived pity.

But Steve didn’t pity him. Through everything, through thick and thin, rough and smooth, Steve admired him. And even if he didn’t realize it, Bucky inspired him. Inspired him to be a better friend, a better person, better at loving and caring and showing it in healthier ways.

The year before, when Steve was having a bad experience with his job at the time, Bucky was the one who convinced him to quit. “You’re worth more than this, Stevie,” he’d urged. “You’re beyond overqualified.”

Steve wasn’t convinced. But Bucky chipped away at him, and after time some, Steve found his encouragements harder and harder to ignore, until one day his boss had given him shit for the last time. Steve looked him square in the eyes and said, “I’m done here.”

As Steve stepped back out into the world, newly unemployed, he felt for a second that he might crawl straight back into that cafe that was trendier than he could ever hope to be and beg for his job back. Part of him wanted to scream, right there in the middle of the street, “What the fuck did I just _do?_ ”

But in the back of his head, he heard Bucky’s voice chanting steadily, _you’re better than this, you’re better than this,_ and for a minute, Steve felt that from then on, he could do anything he wanted.

He wanted to help Bucky feel that way, too. Everyone saw the potential in him except… well, him. Steve couldn’t blame him. They shared a long, exhausting history with self-doubt, anxiety, and a chronic case of never feeling good enough (to name only a few, in Steve’s case). In recent years, Steve began to make a stronger effort to push against it. It wasn’t a job for one man, and Steve couldn’t count on both hands how many times his friends had to help pull him out of a dark patch. They all had each other’s backs, and gladly accepted help when they needed it most.

All except Bucky.

 

* * *

 

Bucky stepped out of the bathroom smelling decidedly better, but still feeling worse for wear. Steve, sitting at his dining table and sketching into his notepad, didn’t appear to hear Bucky open the door.

When he saw Steve like this, Bucky imagined coming up behind Steve and wrapping his arms around him. Maybe he’d kiss his cheek then, or nuzzle into the crook of his neck. No matter what, Steve would giggle, and Bucky would giggle too, because after all this time so close in the dark, they’d finally found each other.

“How’s it looking out there?”

Bucky delighted in the way Steve’s head popped up upon hearing him.

“What’s that?” Steve asked, eyebrows raised and eyes wide open in that curious expression Bucky loved.

“The storm,” Bucky said, feeling his mouth curl up into an involuntary grin. “How’s it looking?”

“Oh. I haven’t watched the forecast since last night, but it sounds pretty nasty out there.” Steve closed his notebook and stretched his arms. “Though it feels like pretty good weather for a nap.”

To distract himself from imagining curling up under the sheets with Steve right now, Bucky strode to the other side of the room and looked out the window. The rain looked almost fake to him; choreographed, timed, manufactured to fit the bill of a typical tropical storm, made for movies and TV. Perhaps it was the result of the circumstances. Stranded (could it be considered stranded if you were glad?) at the apartment of the object of his affection, an immobilising storm raging outside. It all felt scripted. Bucky chuckled to himself.

“That storm tell you a good joke?”

Bucky grinned again, a sleepy sense of comfort and giddiness sweeping over him. He could almost forget his head was throbbing. “Better than any you’ve ever told.” 

Steve snorted. “Jerk.”

 

* * *

 

It’d be nice to have this every day, thought Steve.

Domesticity always had a nice ring to Steve. For the past few years, he associated the word with Bucky. Waking up every morning next to him, eating breakfast together, sitting back with a cold beer for the Mets game. Maybe they’d even have a dog. A labrador, maybe? Bucky seemed like a labrador kind of guy.

The truth was, Steve felt a lot lonelier than he liked to admit ( _especially_ to himself). It was nobody’s fault. He hadn’t been in a relationship in almost 3 years. There was only one person Steve wanted, and he was unavailable. He figured one of these days he’d have to move on from Bucky and dip his toe in the dating pool again, but…

He watched Bucky peek out the window again. He seemed entranced by the storm. Something had made him laugh a second ago. (Probably himself.) Steve found it adorable.

Steve considered, for a second, making a real effort to get over Bucky. The thought felt foreign and unwelcome. He almost felt insulted. Did he really expect himself to forget everything he felt for Bucky, like it was all nothing?

He told himself to be realistic. The realistic thing to do, it seemed, _was_ to get over him after all. But when had Steve started believing in realism?

He liked to think that this chapter of his life wasn’t yet over. That all it took was the right moment for everything to come stumbling out into the light. He knew nothing was so cut and dry as it seemed. Maybe he’d just been watching too many rom-coms with Peggy…

“Are you hungry?”

“No,” said Bucky. “I’m kind of… There’s actually something on my mind that-”

Steve’s phone suddenly emitted a high pitched alert, and he could have thrown it at the wall then and there. He gave Bucky a gruff “one second” as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. What could be so damn important?

Steve impatiently clicked his phone on. His eyes were met with a red alert sign next to a matter-of-fact weather notification. _Tornado warning until 5:30 PM._ Steve looked at the time. 4:00 PM.

“Fucking hell,” said Steve.

 

* * *

 

Tornadoes didn’t touch down in New York often. Tornado _watches_ weren’t even issued often. A tornado warning may have been some cause for concern, but after the age of 11, Steve never got that worked up about weather.

Instead, Steve was much more worked up about the fact that it seemed like Bucky was really about to open up to him, until Mother Nature stuck her nose in matters.

Nevertheless, since Steve had neither a staircase to hide under nor a bathroom big enough for both of them to hunker into, they put a few pillows down on the floor of Steve’s just-big-enough bedroom closet and closed the door. They sat next to each other, their backs against the wall. Steve was positive there was no one he’d rather be sitting out a tornado warning with.

Steve sighed and leaned his head back against the wall. Listening to the rumble of the storm outside and the sounds of Bucky existing next to him made Steve feel more at peace than he had in awhile, tornado warning be damned.

Looking at Bucky, Steve felt selfish. He craved uninhibited knowledge of Bucky, for their thoughts and desires and secrets to blend together beautifully - a nuanced color on a paint palette, unique to them. And he craved trust, above everything. Unconditional trust, and a reservoir of memories and experiences and knowledge of each other that was theirs and theirs alone.

Deep down, Steve knew he had Bucky’s trust, no matter what. But Steve couldn’t help but feel like they’d missed a vital step somewhere along the way, as if they skipped a key set of actions that would solidify their unshakeable status with each other. Like they’d jumped over a gap and pretended it wasn’t there. It left Steve feeling frustrated and confused, like there was something hollow about their friendship that he couldn’t fill, no matter how hard he tried.

“So,” said Steve, approaching uncharted territory. “There was something you wanted to talk about?”

Bucky swallowed. “Kind of.”

“Well, you know, Buck, I’m here for anything. Always.”

Bucky sighed deeply and stretched. Propping a pillow against a wall, he wiggled further down so that he was laying on the floor. Steve laid down next to him.

They stared at the ceiling in silence. Steve fought the urge to reach out for Bucky’s hand.

“I had a dream about you last night,” Bucky said.

Steve’s heart fluttered and it made him feel like an idiot. He swallowed. “Really?”

“Yeah. About when we first met. Do you remember that?”

Of course Steve remembered. They met at a bar on college campus. Peggy introduced them. She had brought Steve along, and Natasha brought Sam and Bucky along. When they first saw each other, Steve was immediately taken with Bucky. Bucky had complimented Steve’s hair, and for the rest of the night, Steve felt like he was on top of the world.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Steve saw Bucky’s mouth twitch out of the corner of his eye.

“Do you remember when I caught you calling me cute?”

 _Oh, God._ Steve remembered that, too, against his wishes.

He’d already knocked back a couple pints of Guinness (the Mets had won! It was a special occasion!), and Steve was feeling a little looser with his words. Bucky was in the bathroom (or so Steve thought), so Steve turned to Peggy and asked accusatively, “Why didn’t you tell me Bucky was so cute?”

Steve was feeling a little looser with his volume control as well, and it turned out that Bucky was only at the bar. The whole table looked at Bucky, who was standing behind Steve, grinning with a beer in hand.

Steve scrunched his face in confusion and turned around. “What’s going o-”

Bucky raised his eyebrows.

“Oh.”

“ _Oh,_ ” the rest of the table mimicked in unison, bursting into laughter. Steve was glad for the low lighting of the bar, because he knew he’d probably never blushed harder in his life.

“I’m- I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay,” said Bucky, winking. “Now you know.” 

Back in the present, Steve still hadn’t responded. He hadn’t thought much about that mishap since it happened. Though sometimes he wondered…

“It’s just,” said Bucky, shifting a bit in his spot. His tone suggested he’d been thinking about this for some time. “Sometimes I think, like, I mean… It’s just that I’m not sure why…”

Steve surprised himself with his response. “Why it never went anywhere.”

Bucky looked at Steve sharply. Mouth agape, he nodded gingerly. “Yeah. It just seemed like… I don’t know. I’m such an idiot for not talking to you about it then. All these years… It feels like we really hit it off then. And nothing came of it.”

Steve had been thinking the same thing. Maybe they both just wrote the other off as not being interested by default. Maybe neither of them could believe that the other would actually want to be with them that way. Or maybe they were both just too dense to see what was right in front of them.

“Bucky,” Steve whispered, eyes glued to the ceiling. “Are you saying…”

Steve turned to Bucky, and his eyes were met with a mixture of hope, anxiety, and…

Affection?

Whatever it was, Steve was positive it wasn’t typically traded between friends. He wasn’t sure if he could trust his own eyes. Maybe he’d fallen asleep and this was a dream.

Bucky’s eyes kept darting to his lips, but Steve could tell he was trying to fight the urge to keep looking. Bucky bit his own lip.

“Steve, listen,” said Bucky, his hands now balled up into fists on his chest. “And I need you to be completely honest with me. And if the answer is no, I’ll never bring it up again, I’ll never even think about it again, and we can act like this never happened, but-”

Steve kissed him.

The power went out.

It all happened in a flash, as Steve pulled away after only a few seconds, and both men were shocked. Steve couldn’t believe he’d actually just done that, and Bucky had trouble believing that that really just happened. They didn’t even think much of the power going out. It just felt like the natural progression of things.

Bucky huffed a little. He knew he was looking in the general direction of Steve’s eyes, or at least he was pretty positive, but it was impossible to tell with the light off. Then Steve giggled. And Bucky would be damned if Steve’s giggle wasn’t the most infectious laugh he’d had the pleasure of hearing.

And so there they laid, giggling like two idiotic teenagers in the dark on the floor of Steve’s bedroom closet, in the middle of a tropical storm and a tornado warning. Both of them wondered why it took them so long to get to this point. They were becoming a tornado in their own right. When hot and cold comes together…

Steve figured it was a sort of dream, after all.


	3. The Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "That this could have been theirs all along, if he’d just have had the guts to ask him out the night they met… It made him feel silly. But it felt sillier still to dwell on it now, when all was said and done already. The chances not taken by his past self didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered now was the fiery blond nestled comfortably under his arm, and being the best damn boyfriend either of them could imagine."

**Two Months Later**

 

It was the simple things, Steve decided, that made up the sum of an experience. Things like the way his toes scrunched up when Bucky made him laugh, or the way Bucky smelled straight out of the shower. It didn’t take much to make Steve happy, and he’d be the first to admit it. But nobody could have prepared Steve for the contentment that would follow immediately after his and Bucky’s first kiss.

The announcement of their new relationship status came to the surprise of absolutely no one in the rest of the group. (Behind closed doors, Peggy gave Steve a massive high five.) It was, however, deemed worthy of celebration by Natasha, who bought a cake and made mudslides for everybody (though Natasha would find any reason to drink).

Not much had changed terribly in the way they operated now (except that they stayed at each others places a lot more often now). Mostly, they reveled in their newfound freedom. Neither of them had to pretend they weren’t absolutely enamored with one another anymore. God knows that Steve had a lifetime’s worth of compliments stored up for Bucky, stockpiled over the years.  _ I like your eyes. I like the way your face scrunches up when you’re focusing. I like your sleepy little yawns at the end of a long day. _

For Bucky, his happiness came with the cost of mentally berating himself for not taking charge years ago and saving them all this trouble. That this could have been theirs all along, if he’d just have had the guts to ask him out the night they met… It made him feel silly. But it felt sillier still to dwell on it now, when all was said and done already. The chances not taken by his past self didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered now was the fiery blond nestled comfortably under his arm, and being the best damn boyfriend either of them could imagine. 

“Did they catch him yet?” Steve yawned. They were three and a half hours into a Criminal Minds marathon, and neither of them wanted to be the first to fall asleep (though Steve had already dozed off more than once).

“No. They thought they did but they had the wrong guy.”

“Oh.” Steve yawned again. “Do you think we can go to bed early?”

“Early?” Bucky scoffed. “It’s 1 AM.”

“Yeah? That’s early for me.” Steve scratched his nose and sniffled. “Sometimes.”

Either way, Bucky could think of nothing he wanted more than to squeeze Steve close to him under the cool bedsheets. “Let’s go, then,” he said, placing a quick peck on Steve’s temple.

Bucky watched as Steve wobbled over to his bedroom, Steve’s socks shuffling against Bucky’s floor. But Bucky couldn’t just  _ sit behind _ and let Steve  _ walk _ , so he charged up from behind him and - literally - swept Steve off his feet.

Bucky carried Steve to the mattress wedding-style, dropping him in the middle before laying on top of Steve himself. Bucky relished Steve’s bubbly laughter as he kissed away at Steve’s face and neck, as if he were making a wish every time his lips made contact with Steve’s skin, or leaving a constellation for himself to trace later. When Bucky slowed down, Steve coiled his arms around Bucky’s back and squeezed. Bucky stopped and lifted his head to make eye contact with Steve, and they smiled at each other for a moment, eyelids heavy with drowsiness and a particular kind of happiness that was reserved for the people one cared about more than even they could comprehend. Steve moved a hand to the back of Bucky’s head and pushed almost imperceptibly, and here came Steve’s favorite part; the moment when they kissed, quiet and slow, and every single one of Steve’s thoughts vanished except for one:  _ what took us so long? _

Steve giggled sleepily into the kiss, making Bucky smile, so that now they were nuzzling more than kissing, but to Bucky, this felt -  _ almost  _ \- even better; that they were so comfortable with each other, that neither of them had to put on airs or try to be alluring and sensual all the time, was one of Bucky’s favorite things about their relationship (so far). Not that he didn’t find a new favorite thing almost every day.

Bucky rolled off of Steve and onto his back, pulling Steve into his side in the process. “You know, you’re real easy to move around.”

“Shut up,” said Steve, laughing as he kicked Bucky’s leg. “You’re just really big. It’s not necessary.”

“But you appreciate it anyway.”

“Yeah, but don’t let it get to your head, buddy.”

Eventually, they separated long enough to get under the covers. They laid on their sides, facing one another. Steve nudged Bucky’s arm under the blanket, signaling to hold hands.

He knows that he thinks it all the time, no matter what, but at this moment, Bucky thought Steve looked stunning, to the point it almost hurt. Steve’s eyes practically glowed in the moonlight that snuck through the gap in the curtains, and his hair swept messily across his face (“I need a trim,” Steve had been saying all week). And his smile. It wasn’t overt; Steve had a hell of a Mona Lisa smile sometimes, and he didn’t even realize it. 

Yes, it almost hurt, until Bucky remembered it didn’t have to hurt anymore. This was real, and Steve was there, lying inches away from him and looking - no, gazing at him, as if he was the only thing keeping Steve on solid ground. Bucky exhaled gently.

The feeling was certainly mutual. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is!! I hope you guys enjoyed this, I'm personally pretty proud of it, I spent more time editing it than I did actually writing, I think, cause I wanted it to be just right. Let me know what you guys thought and thank you so much for reading! xx

**Author's Note:**

> Fun fact: "I feel like throwing up. Is that weird?" is an actual thing that has been said to me before by an actual drunk person.


End file.
